


A Little Something

by shinodabear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinodabear/pseuds/shinodabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short ficlet wherein Moriarty interrupts Sherlock at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Something

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for minor things, to be safe: Moriarty being his flirtatious self, passing discussion of character death, corpses, passing discussion of mutilation of said corpse, and, finally: feel free to bring your own slash goggles on whatever setting you wish.

He catches the door as it is swinging closed and thrusts his arm, the one holding the steaming cup of coffee, into the room where no food or drink is allowed.

“I’ve brought you a little something,” he announces joyfully, pausing a moment for effect before stepping bodily into the room. “For while you’re waiting for your dead man to talk. I know you’ve just sent Molly, but we both know she’s going to make a little side-trip to the ladies’ and have herself a cry for twenty minutes before pulling herself together and finally getting around to a watered-down semblance of a beverage that is far too sweet for your tastes.” Moriarty shrugs, as if to say _what can you do?_ , and grins, both at the prospect of Ms. Hooper being so pathetic and at the dumbfounded look that flashed across Sherlock’s face. He’s slightly disappointed in the great detective. Sherlock should have expected another meeting at the hospital. It is their one month anniversary, after all.

“It’s all right,” Moriarty says, taking a step closer. “You can take it.” He licks his lips. “It’s safe. I promise. Here.” He touches his lips to the rim, sips, and then swallows. “Mm. Colombian roast.” He offers the cup. Sherlock doesn’t take it, of course. Moriarty expected this. Nonetheless, he frowns. “Don’t you want it? I went so far out of my way to bring it to you.”

All it takes is a little tilt of the cup, and Sherlock’s eye is caught. It’s all over. “Careful not to burn your tongue,” Moriarty warns with a grin, holding the coffee closer to Sherlock. Sherlock takes it then, but Moriarty does not relinquish his grasp; he is not finished yet.

“You know,” he continues. “I’ve often _fantasized_ about being dead, lying on that slab, naked as the day I was born but for the cold, plastic bag they placed me in. And you there, standing over me.” He smiles, looking back at Sherlock’s deliciously round – and, could they be?, slightly _dilated_ – eyes. “What would you do to me, darling? Would you be gentle with me? I hope not. I’ve seen your work with that riding crop.” Moriarty inhales through his teeth, sharp and strong. “Ooh, _baby_. Maybe we should start _before_ I die. The things we could do to each other.”

“What are you doing tonight?” Sherlock asks shortly, finally pulling the coffee free.

“Don’t tempt me,” Moriarty replies, looking away.

“Don’t interrupt my work,” Sherlock counters.

Moriarty laughs, because Sherlock is just so damned refreshing that it surprises him sometimes that there is someone in the world who can (almost) surprise him. “My apologies, Mr. Holmes. I’ll come back when you’re less busy.” He takes a step back and relishes the profile of Sherlock’s face as he turns away. “Goodbye, dear.”

The silence that follows, Moriarty knows, is the sound of Sherlock sipping the hot liquid from the exact place where he had just moments before.


End file.
